


None More Than Me

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor spends some ~quality~ time with his TARDIS and his imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	None More Than Me

Sometimes, when he’s alone, just he and his TARDIS, his Sexy, when the universe is theirs alone and there is nowhere they need to be, no one in need of saving, he is... well, he is incredibly bored. But there are other times, other emotions that he not-too-frequently allows to fill his mind and give him a tiny bit of relief. A reprieve from the vapid and tedious, a little bit of overwhelming, chaotic joy before a sea of calm and peace washes over him. 

They are moments that keep him sane, keep his mind focused.

Moments when he is the most Gallifreyan and feels the most human. Fulfilling carnal needs is a skill that his kind had mastered and perfected until it was a science like any other in the Time Lord’s arsenal. It was proficient, pleasurable and necessary. His time with humans has shown him that it can also be messy, euphoric and sometimes life-altering. They taught him about imagination, so it’s only fitting that they also taught him that you could clear your mind and find that particular peace all by yourself.

Talk about life-altering. 

He enjoys the company of humans, of course he does. Sometimes he fears he needs them too much, their companionship, their messy problems and their never-ending feelings. And, yes, there are a few he’s needed to a point past distraction. Ones he couldn’t imagine living without, couldn’t imagine ever losing. Then there is that one; that one he can’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tries, and he does try.

Only she festers in his rapidly beating pulse. Burrows into his hearts’ pumping blood stream, into the synapsis of his brilliant mind. It’s that one bewitching enigma of a woman that he conjures when he’s alone in his TARDIS, when he’s feeling restless and out of sorts, when he steps out of the door, the universe swirling around him and his blue box. He lays himself bare against the structure, no wool blazers with elbow patches, no bowties, no holograms. Nothing between him and the smooth painted wood of his Sexy who never judges him, nothing between him and the whole of time and space that always amazes him.

Planets orbit around him, stars and space dust glitters before him, galaxies dance for him and yet he closes his eyes to all of that as he takes himself in one hand, his other hand behind his head, as if he’s trying to be casual, even then.

He closes his eyes and he sees her, sees her wicked smile and the eyebrow of her left eye lifting, as if saying, _Well, go on then. Give me a show._ He smiles and he can hear her laugh. Intimacy with River Song is never not complicated, but also, never not a lot of fun. She had a way of letting everything they were or would be drift away alone in their space, completely exposed and totally safe. 

That was the feeling he held onto while he was alone, stroking himself, feeling his hearts race, his blood heat in its rush to get where it’s going. He purses his lips and swears he feels her lips, in that quick progression of kisses she likes to tease him with. His imagination runs away and he feels the tickle on his cheek of her curls as her breath hot in his ear whispers the words he hears whenever she comes to mind. _Loved by so many, but none more than me, Sweetie._ The last word spreads out and heats his exposed skin as he increases his speed and grip, his other hand now clawing at the edges of his TARDIS, trying to find something to hold on to. He needs this release like he needs River there in his mind, in his memory. 

His breathing is becoming sporadic and strained, but he gives that no mind. In that briefest of moments when he feels the orgasm begin and when it takes over all other thoughts, feelings and reasoning, he wonders about where River is, what she is doing. Is she in her cell? Is she thinking about him? Is she, lord help him, is she touching herself while thinking of him?

That’s all he needs to come. He closes his eyes tight so that the only thing he sees is the fractals of his overcharged synapsis sizzle along the lines of her face, the curve of her smile in his mind’s eye. When he does open his eyes in a gasp he still sees her in the glitter of the stars and he swears she winks, as somewhere, a star sputters out and extinguishes. 

_Loved by so many…_


End file.
